


i'm more than all the mistakes (i've outrun)

by softcoregore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dad Harry Potter, Divorced Harry Potter, Druids, M/M, Magic dads in love, Not Epilogue Compliant, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Paganism, Samhain, Single Dad!Harry, Slow Burn, alternating pov, its chapter three and they still havent met, powerful!draco, single dad!draco, the slowest burn, widowed draco malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-14 13:10:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10537119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softcoregore/pseuds/softcoregore
Summary: Draco Malfoy left the wizarding community 11 years ago, and now his son is starting Hogwarts in 3rd Year, after being penpals with Albus and living a Muggle life.And that's all a little bit too interesting and a little too simple for Harry not to investigate. That is, if turning up on Draco's doorstep out of the blue counts as investigating.





	1. the world outside

_Dust settled around him as he shot one last parting glance at his family home; it was still technically under his name, but it was no longer a home, not a place to bring up a child. Children shouldn't have to grow up surrounded by dark magic and angry peers._

_All the possessions he wanted to keep were in the back of the muggle car, few and far between. Only nice shirts and paintings Draco had done before it had all gotten bad. Don't get him wrong, there were things he could've kept, like family portraits and things with his crest, but he didn't particularly want to keep things that reminded him of the family that exists no longer._

_Keeping an eye on Scorpius sleeping steadily in the back seat of the beat up Ford car (what even was a 'Ford'? was it a muggle cult?), Draco locked the door to his old childhood home where all his memories existed and walked away, not turning around to glance back. Opening the rusty red door with a creak, he slotted the keys into the ignition and turned, steadily pulling the muggle contraption out of the driveway and down the country lane to the rest of his life._

_Sunset loomed and Draco was still driving, flicking his eyes up to the mirror to check on Scor every once in a while, driving with no urgency or direction. Scorpius was still asleep, rosey mouth slightly open and dribbling on his muggle clothing; pale blonde hair mussed against the friction the seat and long eyelashes flickering occasionally on his lightly freckled and cherubian chubby cheeks._

_And God, a strong urge of paternal protection flooded Draco's senses, another reminder of exactly why he was venturing into the great unknown._

_You see, because it wasn't safe for him to stay in the mainstream wizarding world any longer. Whilst he may have been pardoned for his war atrocities, that didn't mean anyone had genuinely forgiven him, even with Potter's strange and not entirely welcome endorsement._

_Hell, he still hadn't forgiven himself, another reason he had to leave. Although he didn't want his son to grow up eternally loathed by everyone and their mothers, he also didn't want him plagued by the bad memories haunting the Manor and the dark magic attached to it. Too many nights were spent screaming and waking up covered in a sheen of panic cold sweat from terrors that dragged him under, people screams haunting him even with his eyes closed. Even the magic there was tainted, nothing coming out pure like it was when he first cast a spell at Hogwarts. That wasn't the environment in which his precious child would be safe to practise or learn of magic and history._

_So he decided to revert to almost-muggledom, travelling around wherever he could to all the magical communities that would welcome him, and see what else he could learn from the world he had been deprived of, the diversity he had no choice to have missed._

_And as the last sun's rays set behind him, freckling the road with diffused light from the hedges, and lighting everything with a ethereal rose gold sheen, he was entirely welcome of what he was to relearn._


	2. i can't tell you nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus recieves an all too mysterious letter, and Harry is one to investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg its 23:12 and i just banged this out because i actually want to make smth decent out of this. also its the holiday and ive been at revision 5 days in a row now for most of the day- who am i and what did they do w procrastinator me's body? enjoy dis its not beta read or gr8.
> 
> mchluvxx  
> eoin

 

 The sun was just rising as Harry made his way downstairs, old floorboards creaking under the disturbance of his weight, almost cranky at such an early hour. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure why he was up at sun dawn, rarely was ever since the divorce. No need to be rising at 5am to say goodbye to a wife who didn’t exist anymore, but the previous evening had been so out of place that he had struggled to sleep like he usually did, and instead spent the night pondering over Albus’ strange behaviour.

 

For the past few weeks, Albus has spent every other evening seeming restless and eager for something Harry has no clue about, even went as far and asking him about muggle phones; the muggle world wasn’t exactly something Harry had been quizzed on in his life, if only Arthur curious about a certain piece of technology or culture.

 

What had acted as the catalyst to Albus’ sudden muggle interest and strange restlessness was beyond him, but Harry supposed it could be to do with the fact that Hogwarts was still a month and a half away, and Albus had little to do.

 

James was on a 6th year retreat with the rest of his advance NEWT class, visiting Ilvermorny to gather information on their society and teaching methods, and to help with their own teaching and education. Unfortunately, that left Albus with nearly no one to bug, and Lily had refused to visit Harry for the 4th year in a row. Without Lily there to distract him, Albus had been sticking around Harry for most of the day, only leaving to write letters to a Hogwarts friend, or collect more study materials.

 

Which was... Nice.

 

Harry hadn’t seen much of his children, what with one of them refusing to ever see him again, the other two spending 8 months at Hogwarts and himself having an Auror position, it ended up with him only affording Fire chats and summer holidays to truly speak to them, and even in the holidays he was still on call to the squad. Luckily this holiday he had only had to go in for some arson and smuggling cases, all of which he had been able to clear up within a matter of days and in his own home office, or whilst Albus was busy with the Weasleys’.

 

As he made his way into the kitchen, soft socked feet slipping over cool slate tiles, he observed the sun rising steadily over the brick wall that stood key in his garden, even inching its rays over the muggle skyscrapers and apartment buildings that usually shielded his kitchen from the worst of the glare. Soft yellow light dappled in the air, falling softly on the grey background of his kitchen, reminding him of how Grimmauld Place used to look before he changed everything inside it, with its old, harsh, dark colours.

 

He flicked the kettle on and set some tea into a few mugs whilst grappling in his pockets for his wand, struggling to locate it despite knowing that he had definitely gone to bed with it (he was sure, he wasn’t crazy. Yet.).

 

Feeling around, he tipped his head forward to just double check and felt the slipping of wood against his cranium, a sure reminder that he had tucked it behind his ear before he had brushed his teeth.

 

Chuckling to himself, he poured hot water into both mugs and got the milk out of the fridge, thanking Merlin for small miracles when it still smelt alright. Just as he took the teabags out and was pouring the milk into the mugs, he heard a small tapping noise on the window. He paused, reaching over the counter to open the window and let Tadpole, his and the boys’ tawny own in.

 

Which was curious to him, as he couldn’t remember writing to anyone or needing to send any correspondence, and James sure as hell didn’t do it as Tadpole wasn’t an international owl; tawny owls rarely were. This left one option and one option only: Albus had used him.

 

Right as harry was pulling the rolled letter off of Tadpoles leg and observing the name on it (which said, To Albus S. Potter), the crashing of heavy footfall on the stairs alerted him to his son’s frantic attempt to race downstairs, presumably before harry saw the letter.

 

Which, again, weird. Harry literally had no clue why Al would be in such a rush if it was just a letter from his friends, especially if they could just make plans to meet instead. Unless…

 

“Who’s the letter from?” Harry smirked, taking in Albus’ dark mussed hair and crinkled pajamas, a drool mark still slightly visible on his chin.

 

Al blushed and wiped his chin to no avail, reddening as he reached to grab the letter from his father’s overhanging hand. Unfortunately that just led to Harry leaning against the counter top and holding the letter higher, almost in an attempt to taunt his son and his crush on whoever the letter was from. It was clearly a crush, as most teen boys don’t run downstairs at nearly 6am to get a letter from just a friend. And that explained why Albus had been so restless on the nights- Harry remembers how he used to act with letters from Ginny. Used to, of course. That had been a long time ago.

 

“It’s no one, Merlin’s beard, Dad just give me the letter.” Albus whined, attempting to seem slightly chilled, even though it was very clear to Harry that he was nowhere near ‘chill’ in the slightest, not if his still rosy cheeks and overly frustrated facial expression were to give anything away.

 

“I am sorry for showing an interest in my son’s friends, Albus Severus Potter,” He snapped, faux-haughtily with a tinge of hurt to see if he could win his son over. And sure enough, Al seemed to crack.

 

“I- Well- You don’t know him.” Albus muttered, voice getting quieter and less clear with every slightly annoyed soft kick to the skirting board next to Harry’s feet.

 

 _Him_. Well, that for a start slightly shocked Harry. Although he knew that James had a tendency to hit on anyone breathing and of an appropriate attractiveness, Harry had never presumed that Albus was interested in men, or, well, boys. Then again, neither had Harry presumed that about himself, and then everything happened, so who was he to judge.

 

“Al, I don’t care if I don’t know them, they are still your friend and I still want to know who your friends are. I don’t mind who they are, as long as they make you happy.” Harry said, softly smiling down at his son, trying to instil a sense of warmth and acceptance in Albus just through his tone, as God knows his son needs it, especially if he thinks he can’t tell his bloody bisexual dad he’s attracted to boys.

 

“I- Okay. Well, his name is Scorpius, and he’s starting Hogwarts next year as he was home schooled, and he’s really nice actually.” Albus said, clearly pronouncing every word before grabbing the stupid letter that Harry had forgotten about and bolting upstairs, presumably away from his father to read the letter in piece.

 

And, whilst Harry was feeling slightly victorious over getting his son to open up to him, something was niggling the back of his mind, like there was something important for him to remember as he stood there with his steaming cup of tea. Something about what Albus had said, even though he was sure that what Al had said wouldn’t ring any sort of alarm bell in his head, it wasn’t like he knew the boy-

 

And then it hit him like a flash.

 

When Albus had said ‘Scorpius’, he was referring to ‘Scorpius Malfoy’, the son of Draco Malfoy, Harry’s old ‘arch-nemesis’ and also his old school crush. Also the wizard who had barely been seen in modern day major wizard society, only ever creating small ripples when he has surfaced.

 

Now, _there_ was something to set his Auror detecting radar off.


	3. we shared under the moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a trip to a druid camp is nearing its end, and it is hallow's eve. draco may learn something new from his first druid experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my own magic theory is in this story, and in this particular chapter i delve a bit into it but not much so no fear, all will be explained eventually. also its bit of a filler chapter, it doesnt mention harry at all. any italic chapters indicate things that happened in draco (OR HARRY)

_The wind howled around him, encasing him in a cacophony of harsh screams from nature, striking him with the horrible similarity of what he imagines hell would be like; constant pain surrounding himself, like a cocoon of suffering and anguish. Draco faltered, his leg’s weakening under the pressure of what was about to happen, the Druids behind him nudging him forward to the center of the stone circle, the eye of the storm._

_He stumbled forward, catching himself when he managed to fall dead center of the site, silence rushing in like blood to his ears. The three druids, all in the Circle of Manawyddan, joined hands with him, creating a bond that felt unbreakable, almost eternal. Draco’s mind flitted back to Scorpius for a second, still worried for his child. Scorpius was being kept with the Druid children, safe in their camp, but he still felt unsettled, like his bond with his son was somehow unsafe. He shook himself out of that line of thought; Scorpius was safe, the wards inscribed into his skin insured that. The ritual was more pressing right now, his only chance to see Samhain magic in person, as part of the ritual._

_He turned to the group, locking eyes with the Master of the group, where he met his concerned gaze with a nod of slightly wavering affirmation. A current of pure earthsoul magic rumbled underfoot, roaring as though a lion trapped in a Colosseum. It was time._

_Closing their eyes and facing upwards, the group started to chant, Draco still slightly unsure and fumbling with the hastily learnt chant, all voices struggling for attention over the powerful storm surrounding them._

_Continuing, now with growing confidence, Draco started to feel the magic flowing through his veins, vibrating through his skeleton and tying all their outstretched hands together, the sheer_ Kraft _whipping his hair, their hair, up until they formed a Druid/Wizard halo inside the millennia-old stone site. The age-old power from the earth was now flowing through their veins, lending to their already substantial power on a night where Past, Present and Future all combined._

_The sensation of time-magic, soul magic flowing through his very core was strange to Draco, a new, foreign feeling. Still chanting, he took a moment in his mind to analyse the feeling past his subconscious workings. It felt like someone had performed a transubstiation on his blood, changed it from his Wizard pure blood and instead added something else, like a feeling of the sea, of the deep blue ocean. Like something was added and it made Draco more than just a Wizard, more like a practictioner straddling the divide between Druidism and the Wizarding World._

_And, in those few seconds, between him chanting Irish Gaelic and Welsh, Draco felt a thought that he hadn’t fully understood suddenly fill his mind, his conscious and subconscious._

_Pureblood magic was always considered the most powerful in the Modern Wizarding World, but now he understood why people like Snape and Voldemort and Potter were actually the most powerful, despite only being half-bloods._

_As the hurricane of power whipped his hair, the druids around him still clasping his hands tightly as he felt the growth of collective power continue exponentially, his eyes straining against his eyelids as he made sense of the revelation._

_Half-bloods were powerful because muggles, Humans, still had magic running through their veins, just not under the right conditions to be awakened, and not in the same family as ‘Wizarding World’ magic, not the kind used with wands as carriers. They had this kind of magic, Druid magic, Wiccan Magic, Earth magic, the kind that didn’t use wands or “spells” as such, but instead soul._

_That’s how muggle miracles happen, how half-bloods are so powerful, and how muggleborns sometimes seem too adept at magic._

_Draco felt it now, rushing through him, constantly weaving in an out, through the connection in their hands, and their hearts. The smaller hand clasped in his left clutched tighter as the ritual started to join the afterlife, the future and the present all in that one moment. Suddenly, like a flashback of a memory, he saw images, moments, memories, of people he didn’t know, smiles and sadness, joy and tears. He saw other people’s futures through his closed eyes, felt the upcoming loom of death in some. Shaking, he felt trembling in the people stood next to him, as they presumably saw similar, if not the same._

_He saw terror, wargrounds that had not been forged, and evil that had already ruined the earth. Evil was seen prevailing, some in the past and some in the future; a rush of the evil spirits that were now free to move in the world until twilight had passed. He fought the urge to gag or fight back, suddenly overwhelmed by the evil that was with the poor, and the image of Scorpius, powerless._

_Fighting the terror welling up inside him, he regained his tight hold on the now considerably sweaty hands in his grasp._

_The chant was nearly finished, now calling on the spirits to return to the earth when their time was up, and relief overfell his heart with the knowledge that they only had another two hours, if that, left on this earth. He didn’t even know how long the ritual had taken, whether the darkest parts of the night had passed, or if it was just falling._

_His voice had taken on a hoarse tone, the subconscious chanting only catching onto him as to how long he truly had been stood there, shouting in unison to a beatless rhythm._

_He felt the ritual come to an end, the Samhain ‘spells’ ending and allowing the power that was once flowing inside him, heavy like an oncoming tidal wave, wane and lessen, steadily drifting back into the rift between the mortal world and the immortal world. The tension that was taut in Draco’s arms, in his newly found Druid friends arms, released and drew their arms downward, all immediately breaking the circle with a sigh of heavy relief._

_Opening his eyes and blinking to readjust to the light that was actually present despite it still being night, of the candles that managed to keep their flame against the onslaught of magic, he looked up at the men (and woman) stood with him. Letting out an exhausted sigh, he chuckled tiredly and met the Head Druid’s gaze._

_“Well that was like nothing I’ve ever felt before.” He said, locking eyes with the oldish man in traditional druid wear, observing how exhausted the man (they were told to call him Mwg; Draco was still unsure on the name) himself looked, his dark hair looking like a bird’s nest; his eyes, so often full of power, now drained._

_“You have much to learn, young Wizard, of the wonders of nature.” The oldest man there, called the Master as a secondary, said to him, his voice gravelly too with the fatigue of the time chanting catching up with him too. It was then that Draco was reminded that they were more human than he, not invicible from the power of forces, no matter how long they may have been performing for the festivals and equinoxes._

_Draco nodded to the man solemnly, still aware that, whilst he only had till the Yuletime celebration till he had to move on away from the Druid group he had learnt so much from. However, he was gradually getting used to this period of movement, moving from one small ‘magic’ denomination to the next, each before news of his settlement or location reached the modern wizarding world. His next movement was to France, back to his familial village, back to his own roots, to teach Scorpius of their roots._

_As they trekked back to the settlement camp, each footfall getting heavier and heavier against the worn stones and heather that surrounded them, Draco could still feel some residue of the ritual - seemingly in his bones - and wondered who he was now. He knew he was different, it was obvious by the way that every step, every connection with the ground raised goose bumps on the back of his neck, and he was hyper aware of the natural energy flowing through the earth, much like the way a wizard is aware of the pulsation of magic through a wand, out their bodies._

_That was when it hit him, with that exact thought: he wasn’t pureblood anymore. Which, by the way, didn’t make sense to him how magic can be contained in blood and activated by certain genes, how muggle science actually did dictate the hierarchy of the Modern Wizarding World, but he understood why now, he had earth magic running through him, the kind of magic that doesn’t need a wand to channel it. It was, he supposes, because whilst he let the magic flow through him, let the souls and memories of the evil and the righteous go from the earth, the Downworld, and through him, he also didn’t let go of it all. Much like pouring orange juice into a container and then tipping it out, there’s still going to be some dregs left in there, without swilling it out. That must’ve been what happened to Draco, except any magic-aware person worth their salt (ha!) knows that bones are the most absorbing material out there, which is why they’re so often not used for wands. But when they are, they make the most powerful. Bones soak up all the magic, every femur and mandible and phalange sucking up magic like water in a sponge._

_And so when a wand has all that magic, still traces stuck in it instead of flowing through the heart of the wand, it builds up. The wizard has their old magic adding a boost to their spells, to the vessel carrying their magic. But in the wrong hands and another wizard has that wizard’s magic and their vessel, the traces of magic still left in the wand betrays the original wizard, stopping them from doing wandless magic._

_Which is why the fact that Draco’s very core had soaked up Earth Magic, Druid Magic, was significant. Because that power type didn’t need a passage to let it’s forces onto the world. It worked without, if a person knew what it was, knew how to command it._

_So now Draco had more magic, more power, more freedom in himself. Whilst he may no longer be his old coveted ‘pureblood’ he wasn’t less powerful, less worthy of wizardry, if anything he was a better wizard. And suddenly, as the camp came into view, his son running desperately towards him, bubbly and safe, he was reminded that this escape, this trip had done more than teach him about other magics. It had taught him about himself._


End file.
